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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22847287">read between these lines (unspoken weight of words)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>always on my mind [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BAMF Harley Keener, Consensual, Domestic Avengers, Keenker, M/M, Multi, Parent Pepper Potts, Parley, Peter and Harley are boyfriends, Peter is a Little Shit, PotatoScience, Smut, They get caught making out, Yah know, again wrote this at two am so fuck you i guess, also me venting my frustrations about the latest proj runway season, anyway, basically the gang w/o thor and bruce because they’re on a space honeymoon, because yes to cliche, but like, chelsea deserved to stay in, i don’t make the rules, i just follow em, lmao I love the last one, lowkey I did not plan on a sequel but after my inbox blew up from the last one I went a-typing, not smutty-explicit-smut, ok ok, parkner, peter and harley manage to get caught making out twice in one day, there’s project runway and rabid scrabble, they also fuck a lot cause hey why not</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 17:14:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,057</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22847287</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>If you haven’t read the first one in the series, you should! Really explains a lot about this one.</p><p>~</p><p>After that day in Harley’s bedroom, Peter decided on a few things. And Harley agreed to them.<br/>He wanted the whole thing. Dates, boyfriend, and of course... well....<br/>They have a bad habit of getting it on where they’re not supposed to. And all the Avengers are about to find out just how bad.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Avengers Team - Relationship, Clint Barton &amp; Natasha Romanov, Harley Keener &amp; Peter Parker, Harley Keener/Peter Parker, James "Bucky" Barnes &amp; Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark minor, Steve Rogers &amp; Sam Wilson &amp; Other(s), Wanda Maximoff/Vision, minor - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>always on my mind [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642360</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>634</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>read between these lines (unspoken weight of words)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Boyfriend,” Peter whispers. “Boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know, if you keep saying it you’re going to wear it out,” Harley murmurs into his ear. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The southern boy’s arms are wrapped around his waist, holding him right while he kisses a gentle line along Peter’s neck. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m in shock,” Peter mutters dramatically. “I thought you were more of a fuck-and-leave guy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was,” Harley mutters. “Until I met you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter simply closes his eyes and leans into the feeling, Harley at his neck, their hips touching. He reaches up and hand and starts lazily combing through Harley’s curls. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So fucking domestic,” Harley whines against his throat. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">~</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Harley, pass me the soldering iron and some solder please!” Peter yells from the ceiling. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Harley looks up. “Um, Darling, why are you on the ceiling?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There’s a leak in this fuel line and if I don’t close it up within two minutes there is going to be a very hot explosion.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shit!” Harley yells, dropping his sketchbook and rummaging through a drawer. Thank the Lord for Pepper’s excessive organizing and MJ’s clean-or-I’ll-kill-you threats Peter told him about. “Peter you should just-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can fix it!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Felix,” Harley grumbles, then leaps agilely onto the table below Peter. “Here!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter stands on the ceiling cautiously, hanging like a bat. Harley still can’t get used to that. Superhuman strength, stickiness... </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d been meaning to see exactly what Peter meant by flexibility. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But none of that now. First save the lab, then fuck. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter grabs the solder and the iron, then leans back up again, using one hand to cling to the ceiling like- well, a spider. He attaches the solder one handed. Then, lifting the iron, he has a horrible realization. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Plug it in!” Peter yells. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thank god for long cords. Harley plugs the iron into the nearest port, and Peter gets to work. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Within a minute, he’s done. He drops to the ground, landing in a fucking superhero pose. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Harley crosses his arms. “Want to tell me what happened?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter looks harangued. “Well. I was making a drone right? You were over there doodling-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sketching.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Whatever. Anyway, said drone must have had a circuit overload because it exploded, causing that-“ he points to the blackened hole in the ceiling, “Which led to a leaking gas pipe. Enough gas, and it would have caught fire from the remaining tech, because Tony has more wires in this building then patriotic cells in Steve’s body. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There are 37.2 trillion cells in the human body,” Harley rattles. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Exactly. Steve’s patriotic down to the last leukocyte.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Harley just stares. “I really wanna kiss you. Can I kiss you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter grins. “So what, I’m your booty call now?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re standing in front of me after having repaired a leaking fuel line. You stood on the fucking ceiling like a stupidly pretty Jewish bat so get your also stupidly pretty ass over here before I drag you and go down on you on a table.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter remains nonplussed for a second. “Quite a speech.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He leans forward the last few steps, connecting their lips. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The instant they touch, Harley groans. Peter’s lips are insistent and demanding, pulling everything he wants. Harley lets his hands roam, from Peter’s back to his hips, then finally resting on his ass. He gives it an experimental squeeze. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Harley,” Peter moans, thrusting his neck out. Harley takes the advantage and attacks it. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">He loves this. All of it. Peter’s hands on his hips, Peter’s hips on his thighs. Desperate rutting like the teenagers they are- and the best thing is, Peter’s his. His and only his. Faintly, he can register himself saying <em>mine</em> </span><span class="s1">as he traces his mouth in shapes across the smooth skin of Peter’s neck, while Peter responds </span> <span class="s2"><em>fuck, baby, yours</em>. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Harley eventually turns his attention back to Peter’s front, kissing him slowly and sensually, letting his tongue form the words that don’t exist in any language. Letting his actions speak for his true words that always seem to fall silent and come up with a witty remark instead. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He backs them up slowly, and when Peter’s leg slides between his he grinds down on it, moaning at the anchor. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The door slams open and Harley’s mind is a mess of names and faces and oh-</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s Pepper. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She doesn’t look horrified or anything, more just confused. “What... the ceiling...”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There was a minor explosion,” Harley gasps. “Peter repaired the fuel line before it could blow up.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh,” She says. “Ok. I’ll let you... um, get back to whatever you’re, uh, doing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With that, she stumbles out of the room. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I thought she would have been more composed, what with all of Tony’s previous affairs,” Harley murmurs. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think she’s just surprised that you managed to corrupt me so fast,” Peter says. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Me,” Harley teases, his voice dangerously low. “Corrupt you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mmhmm,” Peter says, his voice low and taunting. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Harley murmurs something inaudible before ducking back down, biting lightly on the pulse point between Peter’s neck and jaw. The brunette lets out a loose hinged moan. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“See,” Peter pants. “I was right. Corruption.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Pepper closes the door with a snap, her eyes wide. “Oh my god.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She walks away as fast as she can, towards the main room. “Holy shit.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bursting through the doors, she sees Natasha and Clint watching Project Runaway with popcorn, Steve reading a newspaper, Bucky making some new kind of stir-fry again, and Wanda, Vision, and Sam are playing what looks like a very rabid game of scrabble. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Guys,” she yells. “Peter and Harley are fucking.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The reaction is immediate. Clint knocks over the popcorn bowl, Wanda drops two o’s and a w, and Bucky almost impales himself with the kitchen knife. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are- are you serious?!” Clint asks. “Harley Keener? Harley Keener corrupted our spider-baby?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Pepper nods. She’s still in shock. Usually, something like this wouldn’t have bothered her after working with Tony before his Calm Years and they weren’t actually fucking while she was there but Peter was so... innocent? And apparently he’s not?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re joking,” Sam says. “You are joking, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No!” Pepper squeaks. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s joking,” Wanda says. “There is no way Peter would fall for tall, blonde and southern.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My gay ass says otherwise,” Bucky mutters, turning back to his stir-fry. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There is no way that is true,” Clint says. “No way. I refuse to believe it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Is this for the shaving cream on the jello incident?” Vision asks, due to his impeccable memory banks of </span> <span class="s2">course </span> <span class="s1">he remembers that, and the room goes haywire. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Really thought you could trick us, Potts?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh I knew it! Peter is so much more of a nice-boy type.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Pep, oh honey you tried-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Pepper huffs. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She turns out of the room. “It’s graphic. Just saying.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nice try,” Sam snorts as she leaves. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shit!” Bucky barks from the stove. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What did you burn this time,” Nat asks in monotone. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Cabbage.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ok, who the fuck puts cabbage in stir fry, do you need a therapist-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes I do, I’m depressed but I have Steve-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“OY,” Nat yells. “There’s a new Thai place a few blocks out. Bucky, pour that goddamn smoking pan in the sink and let’s get lunch. No Clint, Project Runway can wait.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But- but Chelsea needs to win, she needs the flash sale-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Later,” Nat says. “Now come on. I’m fucking starving.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eventually their kissing fades down to light, soft kisses. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Baby, I’m hungry,” Peter whines against Harley’s lips. He tugs lightly on the other boy’s curls. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Harley pulls back, watching his handiwork develop on Peter’s neck. “There’s gotta be something in the kitchen.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When they reach the kitchen, Peter sniffs. “Do you smell a little something?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Smells like burnt toast,” Harley remarks. “Highly un-noticeable though.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter rummages through the fridge, pulling out an old box of fried rice. “Want some?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sure,” Harley says. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After heating it up in the microwave, Peter grabs two forks and slides one over to Harley. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And the reason you aren’t using chopsticks is...?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m hungry. Besides, a fork’s quicker.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Harley fakes an affronted look, holding his hand over his heart. “Treason. Treason against the king.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am from New York, idiot. You’re less British then I am.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Harley shoves a bit of rice in his mouth before answering. “Try me, bitch.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That doesn’t even relate, you desperate vine child!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For a while, they stay there, eating their way through the old fried rice until there’s none left. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter chucks the carton in the trash, wiping his hands on a towel. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Harley looks at him and laughs. “You have a- here. Let me get it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He leans over, their noses brushing, and flicks a stray rice grain from Peter’s cheek bone. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi,” Peter whispers. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before he knows it they’re kissing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s soft, lazy at first, but they know each other. They know how they get. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Harley,” Peter gasps. “Harley, we’re in the kitchen.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So what,” Harley breathes. His lips attack Peter’s neck again, bless the spider healing that gives him an excuse to add more marks every hour. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter moans as Harley hits his sweet spot, where his jaw and neck meet. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Baby,” Peter whines, and Harley knows what to do. He leans closer, wrapping his arms around Peter’s ass and lugging him onto the counter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Darlin you look so good,” Harley murmurs are he attacks Peter’s lips again and again. “So good.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The elevator dings with arrival on the first floor. They step on, Clint letting out a medium sized burp, drawing a few stares from secretarial busybodies. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut up Clint,” Wanda commands as the doors close. “I can’t believe you got seconds. And by seconds ordered another dish. The waiter looked at you like you were crazy!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am crazy,” Clint says. “Insane.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sure Jan.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How do you know memes too?” Steve asks Wanda. “How does everyone know now?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The internet,” they all chorus.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Well I know that, but </span> <span class="s2">how</span> <span class="s1">,” Steve mutters. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The elevator chime as second time, the doors opening onto the Private Labs, Quarters, and Sitting Areas floor. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I want to finish that scrabble game,” Sam said. “Hell knows I’m gonna best your ass, Maximoff.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Watch me,” she warns. “We’re just getting started.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Project Runway here we come, Chelsea girl we know you got it in you,” Nat mutters while she power walks to the doors. As the first one there, she throws them open. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter fiddles with the hem of Harley’s shirt, pressing his hand against the small stripe of skin exposed. Harley shudders. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter runs his hands along Harley’s spine, massaging the stupidly defined muscles that have no right to be there. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Harley’s still kissing him. His tongue slipped into Peter’s mouth long ago. Their teeth clink in the fight for control that either would be happy losing or winning. It’s heaven and hell all at once.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He abandons his persistence on Harley’s back muscles, instead slinging his hands around the southern boy’s neck and tugging on his hair. Harley moans. “Do that again.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Only if you say-“ Harley kisses him, and Peter tugs out of sheer reflex. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The doors slam open. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Natasha pushes the doors open, and Clint screams. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What the FUCK!” Nat yells. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There, sitting on the counter, is Peter Parker with his legs around Harley Keener’s waist. Their lips were pressed together as of two seconds ago, but now they’ve turned to look, exposing the impressive array of hickeys on Peter’s neck. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter’s hands are wound tightly in Harley’s hair, and Harley’s hands clutch Peter’s hips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi,” Peter squeaks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“HOLY FUCK!” Sam yells. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Harley steps back on reflex, and Peter slips off the counter. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“OhmygodPepperwasrigjtyou’refucking,” Wanda says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter looks harried. There’s a line of hickeys down his neck. “Uh- excuse me-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grabs Harley’s hand and drags him out of the room. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Where do you think you’re going?” Nat asks. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Harley’s room,” Peter yells back. “If you know what’s good for you you won’t interrupt.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Harley laughs, threading his hand on Peter’s hair as he goes in for another kiss. Peter manages to open the door knob, they fall into the room stumbling and laughing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can’t believe we got caught,” Harley gasps as Peter pulls his shirt off. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The bed’s more comfortable anyway,” Peter says, pulling Harley down on top of him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The southern boy grins, pulling him in for a searing kiss. “Agreed.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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